I Get This Wrong EVERY Time

Most days, I feel like I have it pretty together. I'm not perfect, but I'm OK with that. I may not accomplish everything I set out to do, but I put forth a great effort and am always willing to try. I remember things that are important, and I run a pretty tight ship.

And then I get asked the question. And I fail every time.

What is B or E's date of birth? (I can hear you gasping, btw)

Let's be clear - I can tell you the birth dates of my sisters, my mother, my father, my brothers & sister in law, my two older chidden, my mother and father in law. I can tell you the dates of birth of my 2 nieces and 3 nephews. So why the heck can't I remember the day that the twins were born?!?!

I can tell you all about that day - it was a cold morning, the power went out at the hospital and everything was being run by generators when I went down to the OR. My husband looked like a baker in his white outfit and hat, and I joked with the nurses that he put an extra bun in my oven. I could see the whole c-section by watching the stainless steel OR light reflect back what was happening. There were a ton of people in the delivery room. It would have been nice if someone had placed a calendar on the wall at the end of my bed - but sadly, there was just a notice about how the health region does not tolerate abusive behavior. I can probably quote it for you.

So go ahead, ask me what day they were born . . . and I will look at you and start to panic, as I frantically try to determine whether it was the 25th or 26th. I will search for my husband who will know the answer, and if he is not around, look for anything that might have their date of birth on it. And when all else fails, I take a guess. And not a word of a lie, I'm ALWAYS wrong.

That is why they have a Birthday certificate from Play School that has the wrong date on it. That's why all B's speech assessments and reports have an error on them. And why I had to resubmit their Health Care registrations. Because I always get it wrong.

And each time, I reprimand myself, repeat the date over and over in my head, and vow I will never get it wrong again. I promise that before I register them in something, I will check the date so as not to look like the worlds worst mother when I hum and haw about the date.

So today I registered them for Basketball, and was totally caught off guard when I was asked for their date of birth. I got flustered. I said the 26th. Then I backtracked and said no no - it was the 25th - I think. Yeah. Yeah. It's the 25th.

And I hung up the phone. And I pulled out their passports. And . . . . I guess they will be turning 6 a day early this year.

Son of a . . .